Embrace
by Tandy Sandman
Summary: After 2 years of separation, John and Sherlock are finally together. As they realised their feelings and admitting it, how does fate play into their relationship? Long time reader, 1st time writer. English as 2nd landguage. *SLASH CONTENT*
1. Chapter 1

**To whom-ever is nice enough to take a read through this, your time is much appreciated. Also if anyone is angelic enough to correct my grammar and such, don't hesitate to contact me. HAPPY READING!**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock does not belong to me. It is the work of the wonderful collaboration of Mycroft (Mark Gatiss), Steven Moffat, BBC and the ever marvellous Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

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><p><strong>Embrace<strong>

**Chapter 1**

_It took 2 days, for John Watson to realize Sherlock Holmes was missing._

_It took 2 weeks for John Watson to receive confirmation from Mycroft on Sherlock Holmes' disappearance._

_It took 2 months for John Watson to finally receive news from Sherlock Holmes himself._

_It took 2 years to finally meet him again._

It had been a long and tiring day at the clinic. John Watson was lugging two bags of groceries up the well worn stairs of 221B Baker Street.

Trudging footsteps made it up to the landing and stepped into the living room. Looking into the room, John immediately stopped his action. His military instinct kicked into high alert as soon as his eyes landed on the figure slouching on Sherlock Holmes' armchair.

John Watson slowly placed the groceries on the floor and his work bag next to the door. John moved his arm in précised movement to reach the light switch, all the while not taking his eyes off the figure, intruding into his life.

As soon as the light went on, John Watson was ready to pounce into action. But only the sight stopped him from his combat instincts. The man in question was dressed casually. Short cropped chestnut brown hair coupled with slightly tanned skin. White t-shirt underneath a red checkered shirt and a pair of white washed jeans showed off a slightly buffed body tone. The person also wore a pair of colourful but well worn sneakers. The person sat up as soon as the light switch was turned on, staring into the eyes of John Watson.

Staring into the pair of light blue eyes made John realise who this person is. This is the person, who had been missing from his life for 2 years, 2 months, 2 weeks and 2 days. This person is the one and only Sherlock Holmes.

A baritone voice emitting from Sherlock woke John from his transfixed state.

"John." said Sherlock, as if greeting an old acquaintance. Sherlock shifted his position in the armchair, leaned across and placed his elbow on his knees, held his palms together, pointing his fingers to his chin.

John Watson shook out of his reverie, looked down to the floor. He slowly picked up the groceries and said "Sherlock", whist giving a slight nod in acknowledgement. His tongue rolled in disuse upon the name. He and Lestrade weren't on the closest term, spoke to each other less, and spoke about Sherlock even less. Mycroft was only contacted in emergency situations and VERY occasional socialising occasions.

John started to move slowly with the grocery bags into the kitchen, whist flipping the kitchen light on. He dumped the groceries on the kitchen table and started packing things away, all under the close scrutiny of one Sherlock Holmes. John's well placed and mechanic movements attempted to conceal the wildly raging thoughts rampaging through his head.

'Why is he here? Is he hurt? He didn't look hurt. In fact, he looked fine with the tan and more muscles.' Shaking his head before further thoughts on Sherlock's physique, John continued on his line of thoughts. 'Did he have some trouble? Why didn't Mycroft tell me about his return? Oh, I could hurt that man so badly if he had known and not tell me. Did something go wrong? Is he alright? I should…' Before John had the chance to finish his thought, whist placing a new bottle of dishwashing liquid away, a hand stopped him. This stopped him in both this process of unpacking and his thoughts.

Trailing up the long slim fingers, to the arm, then the shoulder, John Watson once again found himself looking into the light blue-grey eyes of Sherlock Holmes. Frowning in confusion, John Watson found himself asking the same question he asked that fatal night by the pool, "Are you alright?"

Sherlock's grip on John's wrist tightened slightly as John looked over Sherlock's body to observe for any sign of wound or abnormality. Sherlock's eyes gleamed with interest as he observed John's process of visual medical examination. With a slight pull upwards on the corner of Sherlock's lips, he answered "yes, I'm fine."

Hearing Sherlock's confirmation, John stopped his somewhat useless observations and landed his sights on the face that he missed so much. Smiling on the fact that Sherlock expressed his wellbeing, John asked the question that he missed asking, "Well, a cup of tea then?"

Upon hearing that question, Sherlock Holmes smiled and released his grip on the doctor's wrist. John immediately missed the contact but shrugged it off and went to put the kettle on. Sherlock stepped back from John, wishing that he could get closer instead, to better observe the man.

Sherlock was genuinely surprised at how well John had taken to his comeback. He had expected something, but no this. Not the normalcy that he had imagined and long for, for 2 years. John had lost some weight, but gaining a bit of tummy instead. His hair was slightly longer and his skin paler. There was some sign of sleepless nights and the addition of couple of wrinkles. As it was summer, John was wearing a slightly crumpled light blue shirt with a loosened dark blue tie, as he had come off work then strait to grocery shopping. New dark blue work pants and brown loafers indicated a new wardrobe.

"You look paler. What happened?" interjected Sherlock with his new observation.

"Well, England happened." John's curt answer was cryptic. It could have meant the truth, but the tone of the voice indicated something else. Sherlock didn't like facing John's back, unable to read the doctor's facial expression.

Standing with a wider stance, Sherlock crossed his arm and continued staring, no, scowling at the man. John seemed to have sensed the change in atmosphere and stopped him process. He braced himself on the work bench and sighed deeply. He turned around to come face to face with Sherlock's scowl.

"Oh don't look at me like that." John answered with an angered tone. Sherlock simply raised his posture to glare down at the man. He did not understand what when through John Watson's head to make him angry. He did not like not knowing what John was thinking. What was John angry at? He did not spend 2 years away from one man and come back to another. He did not like changes.

John was unsettled at Sherlock's defiance. He could not understand what lead to Sherlock's change in attitude. Just because he had answered curtly, didn't mean that he had answered wrongly. John just did not want to further expand the conversation into his wellbeing or just he got the colouring of his skin wrong. 'Oh' a realisation hit John as he looked at Sherlock's glare. Sherlock had expected to return to 221B Baker Street with everything the exact same as before. He did not understand nor appreciated John's physical changes.

John took another sigh and said quietly "look, I just don't have the energy to do this right now. So please, could we leave this until tomorrow. Okay?" John pleaded as his fatigue from the long day settled in. The adrenaline from seeing Sherlock again started to wear off as Sherlock continued staring at John, deepening his scowl.

As John moved to go upstairs, a sure sign of wanting to stop this line of inquiry, Sherlock moved to block his way. John was bristling. He sighed again and made the motion to move again. Sherlock raised his hand to block John's movement by placing it on his shoulder.

Suddenly a fist landed on Sherlock's face, sending the fumbling limbs of a very tall detective to the floor. Clutching his right jaw, cricking it to make sure no bones were cracked. He looked up. John was shaking and excising his left hand as he shifted away from Sherlock. Emotions shifted across the doctor's face like a slide show, horror, apologetic, anger then finally settling into an emotionless expression.

"Your jaw should be fine. I didn't put too much force into the punch. You might get some bruising tomorrow. But then you got that coming." John walked away, picked up his work bag from the floor, and then stomped to his room, leaving the kettle boiling and a surprised detective. Muttering to himself Sherlock said "well, I defiantly saw that coming", and lifted himself off the floor to turn the kettle off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Please leave comments... I need to know how I did... before I dared to write more...**

**Disclaimer: can I claim John Watson to be mine? I want a good doctor...**

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit" Mycroft's sophisticated voice rung across his posh and finely furnished office.

"To whom, Mycroft. To whom do you owe this visit to" mumbled Sherlock as he sat cross his brother's desk, still nursing his bruised cheek.

"Am I right to assume that whom is the same person who gave you that bruise on your cheek?" said Mycroft smugly, seemingly agreeing with the punch.

"You assume right." Sherlock scowled at his brother's smugness. "I want to know what happened whist I was gone." Once finishing this sentence, Mycroft Holmes' smugness morphed into a guarded expression. Finding this interesting, Sherlock shifted into his thinking pose, waiting for Mycroft to reinitiate the conversation.

"How much do you know?" Mycroft answered with another question. Sherlock settled into his diagnostic position and started his deduction. "Firstly, despite the warm day yesterday, John was wearing a long sleeved shirt, buttoned at the sleeves. Any person on such a day with long sleeve shirt would have rolled the sleeves up, especially in the case where he was packing the grocery away. This meant that either he was actually cold or he was hiding something along his arm. If he was cold, he would have worn a jacket. Hence the other possibility is more plausible."

Stopping to gather his thoughts, Sherlock continued his theory. "Secondly, he had lost quite a lot of weight; the decrease in a belt hole indicates roughly two pounds. His tummy suggested he had lived a sedentary lifestyle before getting to lose the weight. This meant that something occurred to stop him from moving around, stopped him from exercising, something akin to an accident where he was confined to limited movement."

Leaning back to make his last deduction, Sherlock continued. "Lastly, he's limping slightly. I could see that it is not psychosomatic as he tends to favour his left leg and his right shoe is more worn as he shuffles with the bad leg. Also he could not reach the higher shelves with his left arm; this indicates recent injury to make his shoulder worst then before."

Looking up to see the expression on his brother's face, Sherlock stopped to see whether he was on the right track. However, Mycroft bore an emotionless mask, as his eyes glitter with interest. "Well, if you are that worried, why didn't you ask him yourself?" asked Mycroft after seeing his younger brother's questioning glance.

Sherlock put up a frustrated hand and ruffled through his short cropped hair, missing his curls. "He wouldn't have told me" leaning back into the chair and dropping his chin to his chest, Sherlock resembled a grumpy child pouting. Mumbling from the awkward position Sherlock continued his ranting. "He said he would talk about it today, after letting him get some sleep yesterday night. But this morning he woke up late and had to rush to work. I told him to skip work for a day. He said he can't as the clinic was short on hand due to the summer holidays."

Seeing his younger brother's frustration, Mycroft smiles and said "John promised you that he would talk with you when he gets back." Seeing a nod from Sherlock, Mycroft continued his own analysis of the situation "but you got impatient." With another nod, Sherlock slouches more into the chair, defying the acknowledgement that his brother was right. "Well, all I can tell you is that you have to wait" said Mycroft softly.

Sherlock looked up in disbelieve, "Why? What is so important that you can't tell me?" Sherlock stood up and leaned forward into his brother's deck, facing closer to Mycroft, waiting for an answer. Seeing his brother's defiance, Sherlock realised something "Is it won't, or can't?" Observing a flicker of wavering emotion, Sherlock stood up strait and said "won't."

Mycroft broke his brother's unyielding gaze; he signed and confessed "this is a story for John Watson to tell. I swore not to tell you anything until he agrees." Looking at his younger brother's confused and fearful expression, Mycroft leant back into his big chair and said "it was for the best" and closed his eyes, indicating the end of the conversation.

Sherlock looked in disbelieve at his brother as Mycroft closed off his expression from any of Sherlock's observation. Sherlock knew that there would be no point in further inquiring his brother about John. He exited in a fury to seek for the next best thing, Lestrade.


	3. Chapter 3

**Having lived in England once, kebab meat stores are more common than popularly presented. So I decided to include them in my story... hehe...**

**Disclaimer****: Sherlock isn't mine. but I want it to be... I wonder how they are going to portray hound of baskervilles?**

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

Once again walking into the darkened living room with imaginary lead weighing his shoes, John Watson trudge forwards, flicking on the lights, dumping his work bag onto the couch and landed on his armchair. Once settled in, John focused his vision on the person sitting opposite him. Unused to the addition of his housemate, he looked at him carefully, gauging for any abnormality. Instead of the causal street clothing he had worn yesterday, today he was back to neatly tailored shirt and silk pants. The hair, upon closer inspection, had started to show darker hair roots, indicating a dyed hair.

However, it was the expression that Sherlock Holmes bore that unsettled John Watson. It was dark, raging with anger, with a tint of annoyance. Getting uncomfortable from the stare, John broke the uncomfortable silence "what?" Questioning what had he done to receive the end of Sherlock Holmes' foul mood, John shifted in his armchair.

Sherlock scowled and asked in a firm voice "where were you?" Disbelieve in Sherlock's simple question, John answered "at work."Confused about Sherlock's deepening scowl, John frown back, fighting back against Sherlock's unreasonable mood. "The whole day?" asked Sherlock as he sat up, hands braced on the arms of the chair.

Hearing that question, John scoffed, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Refraining himself from further aggravating Sherlock, John answered "I called you twice. Texted you 5 or 6 times telling you that I had to stay for a double shift." As John observed Sherlock pulling out his new phone and realising the missed text and phone calls, he continued talking about the situation, which was explained in the texts. "I told Sarah that I need to go back to being part-time clinician, she persuaded me to do one last double shift as she really needed the hand. As I would be taking a day off work tomorrow, I agreed, that's why I've been at work all day." Bursting out laughing at Sherlock's lowering posture; John was in an away, glad of the misunderstanding.

Suddenly, a growling sound interrupted the casual atmosphere. Looking down at his stomach, John patted it and grins at Sherlock, "guess my tummy is telling me that I should eat. I'll grab some thing from the round the corner take away restaurant. You want something?" Making the indication of standing up, Sherlock responded by placing a hand on John's right shoulder. "No, you rest. I'll get it" sweeping out of the living room before the both of them had the chance to think about that brief physical contact. As Sherlock was making his way down the stairs of 221B Baker Street, John called out. "Sherlock!" Sherlock stopped his progress to turn his head to yell up the stairs, "Ya?" Seeing John Watson's head poking through the living room door, he grinned "apology accepted" winked and disappears through the door. Sherlock couldn't stop a small smile gracing his face as he made his way down to get John Watson the food he deserves.

Making his way up the stairs with a couple carton of kebab meat, salad and warps, Sherlock Holmes arrived in the living room of 221B Baker Street. The living room light was switched off, the light above the mantel and a standing lamp at the corner of the room was on, placing the room in a soft warm atmosphere. John Watson was found dozing on his armchair as Sherlock walked towards the tea table and placed the food there. The mantle light and a bit of street light landed on John's face, highlighting the contours of the sleeping figure. The fringe of the mousy brown hair attempted to conceal a scar on the top right corner of his forehead, which wasn't present before the 2 year's separation. Before Sherlock could form anymore observation, the subject aroused with a tweak of the nose, smelling the arrival of food.

Shoving food down his mouth, John was showing how ravenous he was. Sherlock, who was not hungry, took this opportunity to tell John about his findings. "I talked to Lestrade" observing John had stopped his eating and attempting to clear his mouth of food, Sherlock kept on talking. "I asked him how everything was going" John nodded his head as he was chewing his food, indicating Sherlock to keep talking. However Sherlock observed the slight slouch and sigh through his nose, indicating relieve. "I asked him what had happened to you." Upon this sentence, John immediately sat up, shoulders back, facing Sherlock and swallowed his food. "He said you had disappeared for a week. Your sister was looking for you, that's why he knew." Seeing John's jaw clench and the corners of the eyes tightened, the expression of a solder awaiting bad news. "Then you reappeared, in a hospital, with Mycroft." John's face flashed pain and regret; he shifted his eyes to the floor, lightly sighed, admitting defeat.

Sherlock had a lot of question to ask, but he promised Lestrade that he would be patient and careful. Lestrade, when explaining the state John was in when he was found in the hospital, had sounded painful, and concerned. He learnt from Lestrade that John was in a real bad shape, buy Mycroft prevented him from learning more of John's condition. From Mycroft's guarded answer to his interrogation, Sherlock Holmes knew that this was a delicate matter.

John stood up and walked to face the street window, and took a deep breath. The already darkened room added to the mysterious atmosphere. Sherlock did not like this. John Watson does not have anything to hide. He was one of the most transparent and non-mysterious person he had ever known. "What happened?" Sherlock asked softly, threading on dangerous ground, not willing to scare the person he cared about away. He stood up to slowly move towards the still figure standing next to the window.

"Moriaty happened." John's soft answer froze Sherlock's blood. He had expected this answer, from the back of his brain, his subconscious. But hearing it from John Watson, the hardened war veteran spoke of those 2 words with such resignation and submission was another matter. He moved closer to the figure in a cardigan during the height of summer, standing next to the window.

John turned around to face him. The look on his face was complex and hurtful. It was a mixture of fear, hatred and most of all, sadness. He feared Sherlock's opinion upon himself would be lowered by his capture; he hated himself for being so weak, he was sad that Sherlock knew about this. He was sad what this revelation would mean to Sherlock. He was upset that his had ever happened. His gaze gradually got lower and lower, submitting himself to the onslaught of emotions and self-hatred.

Suddenly a hand on his chin made him lift his gaze to the eyes of Sherlock Holmes. What he saw in Sherlock's face was the exact same thing, fear, hatred and sadness. But it was the fear of what John Watson had gone through in the hands of his archenemy. He hated himself for not knowing, and the man that he had sworn to bring down. Last of all, sadness for John Watson, who had to go through this, caught in the cross-fire, of the two brilliant minded people.

Sherlock looked into the face of the only person who was so patient, who took him as who he was, who had endured what he went through, and was still willing to be his friend, and maybe even lover. He had thought this through, yes, the great Sherlock Holmes thinking about emotions, realising it, and accepting it.

Sherlock gently cupped his right hand on the left side of John's face; relive at John's gesture as he moved his face towards the soft hand. Sherlock then proceeded to lift his left hand, using his index finger to gingerly brush through the fringe, to touch the scar. Upon the observation of the tell-tell signs of stitching, Sherlock felt his heart ache. He moved closer, stopping to make sure John understood his action. John seemed at peace, looked up to gaze into the light blue-grey eyes, the dark blue eyes misty, affected by Sherlock's soft motion and delicate emotion. Sherlock ached even more, affected by John's affection. He tipped his head forward, landing a kiss on the scar.

Sherlock felt something wet and cold slid through his right hand. He looked down, and saw closed eyes, with tears trekking through John's cheeks. He lifted John's face with his right hand and slid his left hand to cup the back of John's head, combing through his soft hair. Sherlock proceeded to kiss away the tear on the left eye, and then moved across to the right eye.

Waiting for John to reopen his eyes, Sherlock looked into the dark blue depths, understanding the pain and longing of 2 long years without a sound or a sight. Sherlock had constant knowledge of John's wellbeing through Mycroft and his own contacts, asides from that disappeared week. However, John had only Mycroft's reassurance and a single letter to prove that Sherlock was fine and would be coming back. His perseverance and understanding was out of bounds and Sherlock was thankful for that. He waited for John's acknowledgement before proceeding to the aim, the lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**I had intended to write a bit of a 'M' scene here. But I wasn't confident enough... sigh...**

**Disclaimer: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is probably the best crime/mystery writer ever.**

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

After the light embrace next to the window of the flat at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson moved their intimate gestures to the long couch. Their touches and kisses did not move pass any clothing. Sherlock lay on his back, long gangly figure stretched out along the length of the couch and propped his foot on the arm of the couch. His right arm acted as cushion for his head whist his left arm wrapped around the shoulders of John Watson. John lay on his right, squeezing into the space between Sherlock's body and the back of the couch. He leaned back into the back of the couch, pressing his right arm underneath him whist his left hand rested on Sherlock Holmes' chest.

Despite the tight squeeze, both men were comfortable with the position whist they traded stories. Occasionally Sherlock would turn his head and observe John. Landing kisses on John and squeezing his shoulders. John would occasionally tighten his grip on the shirt that Sherlock wore. He would lift up his head and kisses Sherlock on where ever he could land his kisses on.

Sherlock went first, after John's insistence. He talked about his time undercover to bring down Moriaty's organisation. He cut his hair and dyed it. He worked in the Caribbean, hence the tan, where majority of Moriaty's organisation started out from. He inserted himself into the crime syndicate that Sherlock deemed related to Moriaty's vast reach. He gathered information and passed them off to Mycroft and Lestrade. It was useful as it started to affect the efficiency of any smuggling of illegal matter undetected by the British government and Interpol.

Roughly nine months into Sherlock's undercover mission, Moriaty started to pull back his control over any Caribbean matter. However, it was too late. Sherlock had already landed himself as part of the higher authorised member in the syndicate. He worked his way up the ladder of authority and eventually worked his way into central Europe. This left him with greater power and detailed information of the workings of Moriaty's organisation. After bringing down the biggest crime syndicate under Moriaty's influence in central Europe, Sherlock returned to England to finish his job.

Roughly nine months into John's life without Sherlock, Moriaty captured John and attempted to coerce some information out of him. John did not falter and break. He refused to release any information, however few he had, to James Moriaty. In Sherlock's letter to John 2 months into his disappearance, he had left précised information on what he was doing along with contact details. However, understanding how deep undercover Sherlock was and how precarious his situation was, John did what any good soldier would do, he burnt the letter. He deliberately forgot the contact detail and explicitly told Mycroft not to contact Sherlock if anything were to happen to him.

Settling into the gloom of midnight, both men did not shift from their position as they traded stories. John steered off from any line of conversation regarding the missing week. Sherlock deliberately told John that he did not want to know what Sherlock had done to move up the position of power. John's right arm was getting a cramp after being pressed on after the long hours, as was Sherlock left arm. They finally shifted to sit up on the couch, exercising their numbed limb. Both had a slight grin on their face, enjoying the company and situation. As John's cardigan had slipped off his shoulder, Sherlock got curious.

"Can you take the cardigan off?" Sherlock asked. Curious and concerned eyes landed on John's stiff form upon the question. Sherlock lifted his left hand to clutch John's right, enforcing his need to know what had happened. "Please?" Sherlock asked in a soft voice.

Sherlock's plea was faced with John's snort, as he attempted to hide a laugh. "Never would I think the first time Sherlock Holmes pleaded with me, was for me to take my clothes off." John grinned one of his grins where the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes crinkled as he faced Sherlock. This placed a light tweak at the corner of Sherlock's lip. The grip on the right hand tightened, indicating that John was unsuccessful in the attempt to change the topic.

John took a deep breath and looked down to the floor as he slipped his right hand from Sherlock's grip. He shrugged his shoulder and proceeded to take the cardigan off. Wearing a brown checkered short sleeved shirt, the removal of the cardigan showed Sherlock signs of the damage done to John Watson. On his right arm was a deep angry gash and stitching, indicating possible surgical incision to reach to the bone. Turning John's shoulder to face him, Sherlock continued to observe the left arm. Light pink burn marks on the skin from the top of the arm thins out to the forearm.

John had turned his head to look over his left shoulder as Sherlock looked at the damage, as if ashamed of the damage. Sherlock gently trailed his hand from John's shoulder down to the arms, grazed along the scars and marks, reaching the wrists. He gently lifted John's wrist to observe the fading scars, indicating fierce struggles. John's face was gentle and emotionless. Sherlock's face flared of pain and anger.

Long dextrous fingers of Sherlock Holmes grip on the padded calloused hand of John Watson. Sherlock looked up to face the man who had gone through all these without a single complaint. John turned his head to look at the man who had sacrificed everything to bring down an adversary. Sherlock lifted John's wrist whist never leaving his eyes from the dark blue eyes. He kissed the scared upturned wrist as a single tear rolled down his angular cheek bone.

John released himself from Sherlock's grip and leaned forward to slide his arms over Sherlock's shoulder. He hugged Sherlock, pouring his love and care to the detective with all he had. Sherlock wrapped his arm around the waist of the doctor, placed his face into John's neck and breathed in. John pulled back from the embrace and faced Sherlock. He leaned forward to kiss the tear on the tanned cheek; he then proceeded to place his forehead on Sherlock's forehead. Light blue-grey eyes gleaming with tears looked into dark blue eyes clouded with grief. Their lips touched.


	5. Chapter 5

**Here comes the interesting bit. I had intended not to continue, but the story in my head was just too good to let go... Tell me what you think... Please comment so I could have a confidence boost!**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock is BBC's. Sherlock Holmes and other characters are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's. This plot line is mine.**

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><p>Chapter 5<p>

John Watson woke up in his own bed to the sound of insistent ringing next to his head. He thought that he was going to be late for work, then he realised that he wasn't meant to be in work. Noticing that the ringing was different from his alarm clock, John rose from his bed to check where the ringing was coming from. His phone was buzzing on the bedside table. He reached across and raised the screen to read the caller.

"Sarah." John answered as he tried to clear cobwebs of sleep from his mind.

"Hello, Johnny boy." Said Sarah in a tiny voice, John immediately sat up, as if a bucket of cold water had just poured on his head. "Now, I do not want you do alarm Sherlock, do you understand?" Sarah continued in a monotonous tone and shaking voice. John nodded his head, than upon realising that the person on the phone would not be able to see his response, he said "I understand."

Throughout this brief interaction, John had already leapt out of bed and started to dress up. "So, how is Sherlock? Doing fine, I hope?" Although he could only hear Sarah's scared voice, he couldn't but help imagine Moriaty's sneer. "He is doing fine, great actually." John retorted as he struggled to put his jeans on. Hearing a sudden yelp on the phone, John stood up on alert and said "Sarah, are you alright?" Upon the sudden movement, his bad leg gave a twinge and he stumbled to sit back on the bed.

Hearing heavy panting on the phone left John Watson in a high tensioned state. He placed his right hand on his bad leg, attempting to smooth the cramp, sitting ramrod straight on the bed, awaiting Sarah's response. "Sarah is fine" Sarah answered in a small pained voice. John could not but help clench his jaw upon hearing the voice.

"I need you in the clinic, now." Said Moriaty through the mouth piece called Sarah. John stood up gingerly to grab his walking stick, John answered plainly "alright, I will be there as soon as possible." As he started to move to go downstairs, limping with his walking stick, Moriaty released another threat. "Now, if you informed Sherlock, in any way about this." Hearing Sarah struggle with the next sentence, John swallowed as he stepped down the stairs of 221B Baker Street. "Not only will Sarah die in a horrible explosion, so will the rest of the people in this clinic." Sarah said with a whimper, indicating the severity of the situation.

When John Watson reached the living room with the treat resonating in his mind, Sherlock Holmes was already back to his habit of two nicotine patches and mired of papers on the small tea table. Hearing John's entry, Sherlock lifted his head and saw John on the phone. John plastered on a smile and said to both Sherlock and the person on the phone "I will be leaving to the clinic now, no need to be hasty Sarah, I told you that you could call me on emergency situations, this is one of it. I'll see you later." Upon that, John Watson hung up and squared off to face their enemy.

John, set off to the door, leaving the flat. He did not have to turn back to see the slight frown on Sherlock's face, he stopped at the door of the living room. "Oh and Sherlock," John said without turning back, hearing Sherlock stood up "Sarah said Hi." John shuffled to down the steps of 221B Baker Street and into the streets with his walking stick without leaving an explanation of his departure to Sherlock. However, he did not have to stay to observe the realisation dawning on Sherlock Holmes' face, to know that he had understood.


	6. Chapter 6

**I remember watching the 1998 "The Avengers" (Ralph Finnes, Uma Thurman, Sean Connery) when I was a kid. and the only bit I remembered is when Ralph Finnes pulls out a sword from his umbrella. How awesome was that!**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock may not be mine but the cane with the sword is mine. If it was featured in other stories, it was not intended. We just happened to have the brilliant mind to come up with this... buahaha...**

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><p>Chapter 6<p>

Arriving at the door of the clinic, John immediately realised that Moriaty's treat was as real as the bomb strapped to his chest 2 years ago. There was the lack of people walking in and out of the clinic. There was also the obvious fact that the sign on the clinic marked 'closed'. His chest felt heavy as he took a deep breath, straitened his shoulders and limped with his walking stick into the war zone.

When he opened the door, he quickly glanced over the waiting and reception area. Two burly masked men, with M15 rifles with several other semi-automatic ammunitions strapped on their body immediately pointed their machine at him. They were standing in the middle of the waiting area, one on each side of John. There were a mother and her young child cowering at the right-hand corner of the waiting area. On the left sat a guy with a cast on his right arm with a couple of elderly women. The receptionist had another masked man pointing at her. Upon observing John's entry, the receptionist shakily dialled the intercom, "erm, Sarah. John Watson's here." The intercom crackled within a few seconds with Sarah's reply "send him in".

John bristled at this act. He was fuming at Moriaty's play at normalcy whist placing all these innocent people at harm. He trudged forward, selectively ignoring the M15's pointing at him as he moved towards Sarah's room. As soon as John reached the door to Sarah's consulting room, the masked men returned to point their heavy duty weapon at the patient's in the waiting room, eliciting a squeal from the mother. John bit on his cheek to control himself.

As he placed his left hand on the handle, prepared to open it, he stopped and thought 'if Moriaty wanted to play normal, I might as well play along.' Instead he lifted his hand to knock on the door. "Come in" Sarah's voice rang through the door, than John Watson proceeded to open the door.

The room was bright as the window blinds were opened and the light was on. Sarah sat in her chair behind her desk. She was wearing her white doctor's coat, but anyone could easily see the unnatural bulging of something else underneath the coat. Taking a second glance, John could see wires and pockets of semtex, very similar to the bomb vest he wore that night at the pool.

Without glancing to the figure on this left, leaning casually on the wall couple of feet away from the door, John asked "Sarah, are you okay?" The figure propped himself off the wall and stalked towards the shaking figure sitting behind the desk. Jim Moriaty stood next to Sarah and leaned in by placing his left hand on the back of the chair, his right hand on the desk, in front of the flinching figure. "You can speak now" the Scot's voice leering over the shrinking woman.

John could clearly observe a cut lip on the terrified woman. She also started to support angry red bruises on her left cheek and neck. John grimaced at Moriaty's maltreatment of his colleague. "I'm alright" Sarah shakily replied John, clearly petrified of the person looming over her. John took his gaze away from Sarah and scowled at the psychopath in the room.

"Step away from her" said John in his firm and authorised voice. "Well, nice to see you again, I think that's what you meant" said Jim in his nonchalant voice, leaning closer to the woman, smelling her hair, placing his right hand on her cheek. Sarah closed her eyes; tears started to leak out of her eyes and grimaced in pain as Moriaty's grip got tighter. John did not falter as he started to shift closer "no Moriaty, I mean it. Step away from her."

"A-ah. I won't do anything stupid if I were you." Jim said in a warning growl as he stepped back, revealing a red laser dot on Sarah's vest. In a sense, John was relieved that Sarah did not notice that as her eyes were still closed. Her psyche would be made more fragile because of that. But in another sense, he was more worried. He no longer had any control over this situation. It was all in the hands of the psychopath.

John closed his eyes, and took a deep breath; he needed to think of an away to get out of this, for everyone's sake. Deep down, he was hoping for a rescue. When he opened his eyes, Jim Moriaty was prowling towards him. "So, how was Sherlock? Hadn't seen him in a long time" his pseudo American Scottish accent purled on, as he stood in front of John, leaning back on the desk, eyeing him like a hungry prey. "He's fine. But then you probably know better than I do." John defied by looking straight into the dark eyes of their enemy.

Jim smirked, enjoying this little game of defiance. "Indeed I do." Jim lifted himself off the desk to stand right up close to John Watson. Being slightly taller than the doctor, he looked down into the dark blue eyes; he immediately enjoyed what he saw for a brief second, fear. Jim Moriaty's power over John Watson from that week was still present, 'oh this is so fun' thought Jim with glee.

"Do you know what your dear detective did during his little stint in the Caribbean's?" Moriaty's words dripped with venom as he said these words. "He picked up his old habit" enjoying John's face as it fought with a frown. "He killed people, Johnny." Jim backed away from John, walking around him like a hyena after a kill. "He dealt drugs to kids. He sold weapons to criminals." Upon finishing this sentence, he stood flush up to John Watson, facing him. Grabbing John by his arms, gripping him through the long sleeved t-shirt and stared right into the face of him. "He even slept with some of the people" leaning even closer, nose touching nose, "fucking around like a bunny _rabbit_" snarling at the last word.

John's expression morphed from anger and pain into a smirk. Surprised by the sudden change, Moriaty lost his concentration and John pushed him away. He then proceeded to kick Jim Moriaty's shin and kneed his stomach with military precision. Sitting on the floor after howling in pain, Moriaty looked up at John with disbelieve. John looked down at him, showing a slight grin as he pulled out a sharp blade from his walking stick.

Jim Moriaty quickly glanced at Sarah, looking for leverage. Not seeing the red dot, realisation dawned on him. "You told me not to inform Sherlock Holmes, not Mycroft Holmes" said John with a calm voice. Jim had expected John to do something to him with the blade, but John walked towards Sarah, facing her with the desk in between.

"Sarah, do you trust me?" John asked with a comforting voice, looking straight into her eyes. Sarah pondered a little, before giving a nod. "Then I would like you to stand up, please" said John with a commanding tone, whist not forgetting to be wary of the figure behind him. As Sarah stood up, John pointed his blade at her. Moriaty gasping as he understood his course of action, Sarah gasping at the blade.

"What. What are you doing?" stuttering at disbelieve as John Watson inched the blade closer to her. John continued to look into her eyes and said "trust me." With a flash, John had cut through the bindings to the front of the vest, releasing Sarah from its clutch. As John proceeded to place the blade back into the walking stick, Jim Moriaty stood up. Without turning back, John said in a calming tone "you still have me. I wouldn't walk out of this clinic just as Sarah wouldn't walk out of here even if she could." Throughout this sentence, John used the walking stick to lift the vest and white coat by the collar by pointing it pass Sarah's neck. Giving her a nod, Sarah proceeded to slip through the oversized coat and vest to stand by the dangerous object.

Simply dropping the garment on the floor, John rushed to Sarah side as she nearly collapsed under the pressure. Hugging Sarah as John moved to the door, he looked at Moriaty "you still have the whole clinic under hostage, we won't be going anywhere." As he opened the door to gesture Sarah out, he looked at the man standing behind and said "besides, your main objective is here." Standing aside to let Sarah out, he ushered in Sherlock Holmes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Locked-in Syndrome is inspired by CSI:NY's pilot episode. I love Gary Sinse and PLEASE DON'T LET HIM LEAVE CSI:NY... he is what made CSI:NY interesting... (along with Carmine Giovinazzo)... also the medical stuff may not be 100% accurate. I wrote it to the best of my ability without looking online.**

**Disclaimer: oh, I dunno what to say any more... Fine, Sherlock isn't mine... *sniff***

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><p>Chapter 7<p>

Sherlock Holmes entered with a tentative step into the room that housed his enemy and lover for the last hour. He gave Sarah a slight push as she stumbled out and guided her towards the receptionist. The guard standing next to the receptionist still had his gun pointed at Sherlock as Moriaty gestured for the gun man to allow Sarah to be with the receptionist.

As soon as Sherlock stood in the room, Moriaty pulled out a gun from his back pocket. This elicited a reaction from John as he moved his left hand to the handle of his walking stick. Before he had the opportunity to pull out his blade, Moriaty spoke "stand down Johnny boy, it won't help." Glancing at Sherlock, then through the door to look at the gun man, John noticed that the gun man had proceeded to cock his gun, whist pointing it to Sarah and the terrified receptionist. He growled, placed the walking stick down his side and leaned on it.

"Mycroft gave that to you?" asked Sherlock, whist never taking eyes off his enemy, nodding his head to the stick in question. John nodded and said "yes. After my capture, Mycroft wanted to ensure my safety with this." Grabbing the stick and pulling out a bit of the blade and tucking it in as quickly as he pulled it out. "Assuming that it has an alarm system?" asked Sherlock, putting out his deduction. John nodded before Moriaty interrupted the conversation with a sickly sweet tone "close the door would you dear Sherlock? I would like to keep this conversation between the three of us."

After noticing Moriaty favouring his left leg, Sherlock then proceeded to close the door behind him. Shifting his position to stand in front of John, he noticed the crumpled lump of bomb vest behind the desk. John noticing Sherlock's observation he interjected "Mycroft took out the sniper." "Yes, I know. I pointed out where they were." Sherlock replied, turning his head slightly to give John a smile.

"Sorry to interrupt your pleasantries, but I'm still _here_" said Moriaty with his sing-song tone, waving his gun around.

John and Sherlock had decided to ignore the raging mad man just to spite him. Sherlock fully turned around to look at John. John looked up into the blue-grey twinkle and smiled his real smile that day. The wrinkles around his eyes made his dark blue eyes shone with anticipation as Sherlock moved closer to place a palm on his face.

Suddenly an arm grabbed Sherlock from behind, twisting his arm around and an arm around the shoulder to point a gun to his temple. Moriaty's brute force behind this movement betrayed his calm exterior as to how riled up he was. He brutally shoved his gun into Sherlock's face, poking at the already bruised cheek from the punch made by John.

John Watson was on solider mode the moment Moriaty made his move. Seeing Sherlock's upturned palm signalling John to wait, John shuffled on his feet to gain better perspective. Seeing John's movement, Moriaty pulled Sherlock further to force the taller man to bend his knees slightly as he moved backwards to get away from the windows.

"Do you know?" Moriaty whispered into Sherlock's ears, unable to let go of this perfect chance to taunt the man. "How much fun I had with Johnny boy over there?" he sneered as he pulled on Sherlock's arm, making the detective wince, both at the action and the words. "Do you know?" as he backed against the wall furthest from the door and window, "What does 6 days of sleep deprivation, starvation, and constant mental strain does to a man?" as Moriaty whispered those words into Sherlock's ears, Sherlock could not contain his shiver at the psychopath's words and breath. Moriaty, enjoying his power pulled Sherlock further down to speak right into Sherlock's ears, as if kissing the lobes. "It would break a man in ways you cannot imagine", Moriaty sneered, and making sure that John would hear this too.

Watching John wincing at the words, Sherlock could not help but let his heart ache. He wanted to pummel the man and make him suffer in ways he couldn't even speak off. He wanted to elicit pain.

Suddenly a loud boom rocketed from the reception area, the stun grenade working as shouting but not gun fire was heard. The shock momentary froze the men inside the room but John Watson had already leapt into action at the boom. As the shouting was heard, he pulled out his blade in a flash and step closer to the two men in the corner. Realising his men was down, Moriaty realised that there was a blade in his stomach at the same moment. Sherlock Holmes' shirt had a tear as the blade marginally scrape pass his skin. Grabbing Sherlock's arm with his right hand, John pulled the detective from the stunned psychopath. He pushed his blade further in, eliciting a groan from Jim Moriaty, making him drop his gun.

"You should have never re-appeared, Jim Moriaty" said John with a dangerous growl as he got closer. He released his grip on the blade, leaving the bleeding man slipping down the wall. Sherlock stood aside with shock, watching John Watson turn into a cold blooded animal, backing his prey into a corner.

With his hands on the psychopath's neck, John whispered "you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this moment." As his grip tightened, Moriaty's eyes widen "you see, I've been doing my own research when you released me." John's tone turn into steel as his grip tightened, "there are several places where a person could press pressure on another person's neck to cut off blood flow." John explained as if he was in a lecture hall, instead of gripping the neck of a psychopath "the lack of blood flow would result in brain damage." Then he tipped his head to the side as Moriaty started to blink, feeling the effect "but by pressing certain blood vessels on the neck, only well controlled amount of blood would be cut off, resulting the partial brain damage." Leaning closer to Jim Moriaty as the man was on the verge of passing out, John Watson whispered "have you heard of Locked-in Syndrome, dear Jim?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Finally, an update. I apologise if this has been late. I have been busy with life... in general.**

**I would like to think this as the last chapter, so I will be changing the status to complete. However, I might add more chapters, where they delves into the couple's lives when they were apart (especially when John was captured by Moriaty). Most probably I will put them into a separate story. Please leave comments so I shall know what and how to continue... THANKS.**

**Disclaimer****: Sherlock Holmes is not my creation (I wish it is). It is the creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The hit BBC tv series is the creation of Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.**

**FYI: C.P.S. (Crown Prosecution Service) is the equivalent of the US term of D.A. (District Attorney). Got that idea from Law and Order:UK, another amazing series.**

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><p>Chapter 8<p>

"The CPS won't be charging" said Mycroft, confirming Sherlock's enquiry and relieving John's concern. "I had managed to convince them that it was self-defence, as no one else was in that room aside from the three of you." Mycroft sipped on a cup of hot tea John had offered in the apartment of 221B Baker Street, winding down after the event.

Ever since returning from the clinic, Mycroft had been scrutinising John, watching him like a hawk. With the anticipation of Mycroft's questions, Sherlock had decided to intervene before his brother had the chance. "So, was it the receptionist that was the mole that you planted?" Sherlock asked from his armchair, facing his brother seated on the long couch. Noting Mycroft's nod, Sherlock proceeded to close his eyes to run through the event of the day.

Hearing John's footsteps down the staircase, Sherlock was brought back to the night before, where their relationship was declared to be more intimate. He looked up to give John a smile, pleased with the progress, than he noticed John's unusual behaviour. John Watson's shoulder was rigid, taut with anxiety and unease. He was leaning on a cane that Sherlock Holmes had not seen before. John was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt with a pair of loose jeans and his brown loafers; his casual clothes. He also was on the phone, but he was gripping the phone so tightly that his knuckles were white.

John had then plastered on a smile, informing Sherlock of emergency in the clinic. Noting John's strained tone, he stood up on the word emergency, searching John's face for signs of distress. John's features were blank, showing nothing as he moved to the door; making no indications of grabbing a cup of tea or coffee before heading to work. however, on hearing John saying that Sarah had acknowledged him, realisation dawned on him. Jim Moriaty was back to his old habits.

Before his train of thought made any further, he was interrupted by John's query. "Mole? Mycroft placed one of his agents in my clinic? How did you" John tried to finish his question, as he realised that he was talking to Sherlock Holmes, of course he knew everything. Sherlock however grinned slightly at John's question, relieved at John's naivety.

"She was the only one in that room with an advantage. The gun man was the closest to her in comparison to the other two. Also he had a hand gun, not a rifle, which was the easiest to overpower in close range." Opening his eyes, Sherlock looked at Mycroft, saw the older man nodding with agreement. He then turned his head to John, observing surprise and awe from the man's expression. Pleased with this, Sherlock proceeded with his deduction.

"For a secretary and receptionist, she's rather slim and muscular. Although she had shown signs of distress, her movement were well controlled and she had constantly remained aware of the other people in the same room. Admittedly, I had initially suspected the guy in the cast to be one of Mycroft's people. But on noticing him cowering with the old ladies, he was definitely; pardon my language, a wuss." John had sniggered at Sherlock's chose of language, but straightened up after receiving Sherlock's stare.

"When Sarah was handed off to the receptionist and her gun man, Sarah's action was slightly apprehensive; as if she was handed to someone she didn't trust. If the receptionist had been working for her for a long time, she would have been more relieved to be with her. This meant that the receptionist had not been working for her for a long time." As John's expression showed more and more awe, Sherlock proudly continues, basking in the attention. "Finally, Mycroft wouldn't let go of any chance to keep an eye on you once Moriaty made his move. He would place one of his people in the clinic that you work in. A receptionist would be a perfect position as he or she would be able to observe the people coming in and out of the clinic. She would also explain the lack of reaction from Moriaty's goon as she could easily take out the gun man at the reception. Whist the other two were distracted by her action, the other people would burst in, taking out the rest."

Finishing his deductions with a flourish, he received small claps and a big smile from John Watson. It had only been 3 days since Sherlock's return; the two men were soaking up as much of each other's contribution into their relationship. Sherlock; as the unique and ingenious mastermind, brought excitements into their lives. John; as the brave and excepting companion, brought humanity into their lives. As they were rejoicing each other's compliment, they had forgotten the third person's presence.

"What you did back there, John. It was intentional." Mycroft broke the delicate moment and cut strait to the point. This sentence was not a question, nor an accusation. It was merely a statement, like one of those statements that the Holmes brothers do, after a deduction. However, Mycroft's expression was rigid and cold. One could not say for certain whether it was disapproval or concern.

Sherlock was lost for words; he himself knew that it was intentional. He was present in the same room as John Watson strangled a man into a very specific stage of brain damage. He wanted to defend his lover and friend. He wanted to say that he did it. He wanted to say that it was self defence. He wanted to believe that John Watson was not a calculative avenger. He needed John to be John, a kind hearted man, who would do anything to save another person.

"Did it work?" John said, in a chilling tone. Sherlock looked at him with surprise, even Mycroft look at John with widened eyes. John calmly ignored Sherlock's stare and looked at Mycroft, patiently waited for a reply. Mycroft looked down to the floor, observing an interesting spot of the carpeted floor. "The doctors said that he is still in a coma. They will have to wait for him to wake up. He might never wake up. But if he does, the doctors are pretty sure that he would not be able to function properly. Seems like whatever you did have worked to a certain extent." Mycroft looked up to the accused and waited for a response.

John had just loosened his body and slumped back into his armchair. "When I was recovering, there was nothing for me to do but think." Ignoring Sherlock's stiffened posture and Mycroft's wince, he continued his story. "I wanted to kill him. I do." John Watson stared into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes, not looking for forgiveness, but patience. His lover looked back, signalling him to continue, no disgust in his eyes, but understanding. Touched by Sherlock's emotion, John looked at Mycroft and explained "but I did not want to turn into something that Sherlock nor I would have wanted. I thought, 'if I can't kill him, then what could I do?'" John looked down, seemingly horrified by his thoughts.

Long dextrous fingers landed on his tightly clenched hands, slowly coaxing him to relax. "I wanted Jim Moriaty to suffer as much as possible." John continued, after Sherlock's gentle persuasion. "Then I thought, what was the one thing that he treasured and was most proud of in his life?" Before John could continue, Sherlock interjected, "his brain". John nodded, "he treasured his brain and ingenuity more than anything or anyone else." John looked up into the eyes of Sherlock, turning his palm to clamp his hands, glad that the man did not turn out to be like Moriaty. "So I thought, what would be one way, which he would be able to lose it."

Sitting up to better explain his train of thought, John continued as he looked at Mycroft. "I could poison him, making him lose his sanity. But then the thing about poison or any chemical is that works differently for any person. There isn't any chemical could have such long term effect without either continuous dosage or one big dosage which could guaranty the outcome." John paused to quench his thirst after talking for so long, all the while not letting Sherlock's hand go. "Also, I wasn't willing to experiment it on other people. So I thought of other ways to make him suffer. Then an idea came by as I was watching telly. What if he still keeps his brain, but he is not able to act out on it. For example, in prison, he could manipulate people to meet his needs. But if he is locked inside his brain, he could not manipulate anything."

At the thought of this, Sherlock shuttered, imagining being stationary, not able to act out or control his surroundings. Agreeably, that would probably be the worst punishment ever for any people who thrives on active thinking. Sensing Sherlock's shutter, John's grip on Sherlock's hand grew tighter and continued. "I started looking up on Locked-in Syndrome and did my own research. Over time I grew more and more confident of being able to artificially recreate such circumstance. However, I was still unsure of the succession of the act. When Moriaty showed up, I decided to make use of the chance and went along with the plan."

The three men sat in silence after John's confession, keeping their thoughts to themselves. John was the first to break the silence. "I know what you are thinking." John said, looking down as he was unable to look at the other men's disgust of his actions. "You must think that I am a monster" looking up to seek for forgiveness from Sherlock, John's eyes brimmed with tears and plea. "I did this for us. I want us to be left alone. I want my nightmares to be gone. I want…" before John Watson had a chance to finish, Sherlock Holmes leapt forwards from his armchair to silence the lips, with his own.

John was surprised at the emotion that he felt through Sherlock. He did not feel angst or sadness or pity. He felt an understanding and pride that he had not expect. Sherlock did not want John to feel disgusted with his action. Sherlock wanted John to be proud of what he did, as it would be what Sherlock would never have imagined. Sherlock had wanted to put Jim Moriaty through the same hell that John had undergone, but this would put Sherlock on the same sadistic position as Moriaty. John had done the dirty work and up the ante by surpassing Sherlock's imagination.

Drawing back from their kiss, John Watson looked into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes. Admiration and love was unspoken for but abundantly present. Mycroft Holmes saw the interaction and had silently graced a smile on his face. He had forgotten the other thing that he had aimed to inform them with the visit. Jim Moriaty was only part of the vast and complicated syndicate he worked for. However, the positive aspect of this fact was that the duo would at least, be saved from boredom.


End file.
